Leave Out All the Rest
by Fatty Waffey
Summary: Songfic based on Linkin Park's Leave Out All the Rest. Slight Nick/Rochelle.


_This is dreaming/thoughts. _This is reality. **This is lyrics. **Enjoy. :)

**I dreamed I was missing, and you were so scared. But no one would listen, 'cause no one else cared.**

"_Where'd Nick go?" a feminine voice asked once they were in the first safe house. "He's not in here," she stated. A slightly deeper, boyish voice answered her question. "I think Nick left us," he said. "Af'er all, he did say he wasn' gonna stay with us too long." _

_The woman thought, and knew the boy was right. She didn't think he would leave _this _soon, though. She couldn't help but worry about him._

"_Coach," she said, "we need to go find Nick." The big man called 'Coach' looked at her. "Little sister, I don' think he wants to be found. Y'all heard him in the elevator." He put up his fingers to quote Nick. "Name's Nick, but don't bother learning it 'cause I ain't sticking around long." He put his hands down. "Sorry, but I ain't goin' back out there without a good reason."_

_She let out a defeated sigh and looked out the door, hoping to see a familiar white suit._

**After my dreaming, I woke with this fear. What am I leaving, when I'm done here?**

Nick gasped and sat up. He was covered in a cold sweat, and noticed he was in a safe house with three other bodies. He got up and looked at them. The woman, Rochelle, he remembered, was the closest to the door. The hayseed in the trucker hat and "Bull Shifters" shirt was sitting up, back against the counter with the guns on it. The last one that had called himself "Coach" was sleeping soundly in a sleeping bag, occasionally muttering something about Easter and chocolate.

It was a dream, but Nick couldn't help but wonder if anyone would miss him. Especially someone with a past like his. He sat back down. He realized that he wanted to do something good before he died.

**So if you're asking me, I want you to know…**

Rochelle was stirring from her sleep. Nick quietly watched her sit up, rub her eyes, and look around, noticing him in the process. "Good morning, Nick," she said. All she got was a grunt in reply. She tried to make a conversation. "Uh, watcha' doing?" Rochelle asked. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply.

"Thinkin' about my past."

"Oh." She thought about what to ask him next. "What did you do?" He opened his eyes and looked at her. He didn't know why, but for once, he didn't lie to her.

"I was con-artist; I ruined peoples' lives for a living. Ended up marrying a bitch named Maria. Took her money and left for Vegas." He stopped, wondering whether or not to tell her more. He noticed that she didn't look scared, so he moved on to the rest of his story. "Met up with some people that I knew from my 'job'." Nick was struggling to stay calm now, that memory kicking up other unpleasant memories. "We were getting unwanted attention, so I told them to go out back where we could talk in private." He stared at her and spat the last few words out. "That was where I killed them."

Rochelle gasped, her eyes wide. "You killed people?"

Her question was almost inaudible, but he nodded anyway. They were both silent after that.

**When my time comes, forget the wrong that I've done. Help me leave behind some reasons to be missed. And don't resent me, and when you're feeling empty, keep me in your memory, leave out all the rest, leave out all the rest.**

The second day that they were doing this was even harder than the first. The infected seemed to be harder to beat, as if they knew what the survivors were doing, reloading, shooting, or otherwise. They'd hide behind doors and come out only when you'd get close. Ellis was the first one to get hit. The Spitter that got him came out of nowhere and disappeared almost as fast as it came. _Here's your chance,_ Nick thought as he bolted after the Spitter. He found it and killed it easily.

Later, a Boomer came into play for the Specials. Just as it was about to puke on Coach, Nick pushed him out of the way and took most of it. He took the beating without saying much, other than to mourn for his "Three-thousand dollar suit" that was currently ripped, covered in bile, spit, shit and other stuff he did_ not _want to think of.

The last Special that day was a Charger. Only Coach had a health-kit, and Ellis had an adrenaline shot. They all heard the cow-like moo of the Charger, and went back-to back, waiting for it to come. Nick saw something move so he quietly told the others. They were all looking at the spot when the Charger came out, running towards Rochelle. Nick ran in front of her, praying that the bulky infected would take him instead of her. For once, his prayers were answered.

As the Charger picked him up, he saw the others start to get up and shoot. It slammed him into the ground with such force that it made him see stars. When it brought him back up, he saw that they were all shooting now. He hit the ground one more time before it died.

He lied on the ground with his eyes closed for a few minutes, only opening his eyes once when he felt someone brush a few strands of stray hair from his forehead. It was Rochelle. "Hey, Nick?" she asked. He grunted like he did back in the safe house. "Never do that selfless shit ever again."

He opened his eyes. He hadn't realized that anyone noticed. "You noticed that?"

She chuckled. "Don't you know women notice everything?" He smiled. "Now," she said, "let's get you up. Ellis and Coach are in the safe house around the corner." She helped him up, and she realized that they were still holding hands as they walked to the safe house.

**Oh, wow, I can't believe I even wrote all of that. Can I have some cookies? Also, the song is Leave Out All the Rest by Linkin Park. Great song, great band. R&R.**


End file.
